


Slipping Nannies

by ForgottenChesire



Series: 2017 Birthday Presents [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Jim Moriarty, Alpha Mycroft Holmes, Alpha!Jim, Alpha!Mycroft, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - A/B/O, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 17:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12040395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenChesire/pseuds/ForgottenChesire
Summary: He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be sneaking out, leaving Anthea behind like this. But here he is, in a dark alley way waiting for someone. It's insane but it causes something to sing in his blood. He feels alive, almost as alive as when he has sex. Jim steps out of the shadows and his heart skips a beat.





	Slipping Nannies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabricdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/gifts).



There is something to be said about meeting in dark and dank places like an alley. About slipping away from his home and going places that just scream danger. That scream that there are muggers and thieves hiding in every shadow. Where the clogging scent of decaying refuse clings to the air. Maybe it's the Alpha in him that makes the thrill of being here unguarded and weaponless so satisfying. Anthea would kill him if she knew what he was doing. The Omega woman is far scarier than any of the numerous Beta applicants he reviewed and the perfect assistant she took her job very seriously. Besides Alphas and Omegas have to stick together in a world full of Betas, or so he's been told numerous times.

 

"Took you awhile to slip your nanny didn't it, Mycroft?" a voice calls from the shadows. Deep yet gentle, it has a unique sound to go with the unique scent. Mycroft quirks an eyebrow.

 

"At least I slipped mine."

 

There is a laugh, it echoes off the walls creating the alley. The reason why he is here, steps out of the shadows. Jim Moriarty, a small man both in height and weight. If Mycroft were to wax poetic he'd say that Jim is as pale as moonlight, his hair brown streaked ebony and eyes, oh his eyes are a swirling pool of cocoa, but he's not one for such thoughts. And Jim isn't one for them either.

 

"What does that say about them, hmm? That they let you slip away where very, very bad things could happen to you," Jim drawls in that voice of his. The way he walks, the way he talks, the way he looks scream Omega. Pleasing to the eyes, the ears, but just a sniff well tell any person that Jim is an Alpha like him. The shorter male stops just in front of him, and the thick scent of metal, smoke and old blood tickles Mycroft's nose.

 

"You wouldn't let it. Possessive little thing aren't you."

 

Jim laughs again, before yanking Mycroft down to kiss him. It's messy and Jim bites more than he really kisses but that is just how they are. They pull apart gasping for breath. A small smidge of blood is on Jim’s lips from where he bit down too hard.

 

"Very. What is mine, is mine."

Which is as close to a love confession as Jim will ever get. Mycroft lets the male in front of him lead him to a warehouse. He shouldn't trust Jim. All his sources say the other Alpha is criminal, and not a petty one. One that tends to end up on watch lists. Though maybe that's why he does this. Why he takes a step outside of the boxes that he sorts everyone into. Good and bad, smart and goldfish. Jim is smart but bad, and it entices him like a freshly baked biscuit. The room they stop in is barely furnished with a bed and table holding lube and condoms. In the air is the scent of gunpowder, sawdust, and sugar the only tell that lets Mycroft know that Jim's babysitter, an Omega just like Anthea, was here. He takes a moment to wonder if it goads the Omega that Jim chose him. To wonder if this nanny of Jim's gets the Alpha when Mycroft isn't there. His hands find Jim, undressing the smaller male with practiced ease.

 

"Whose turn is it?" Mycroft asks huskily, pushing Jim onto the bed. Jim pauses clearly thinking it over. Neither one prefers topping or bottoming, which is unheard of for most Alphas who hate to surrender control to another, even the females tended to have issues with it.

 

"Yours. Make me feel good," Jim pauses looking at him, “though you are far too dressed. Strip.”

 

And Mycroft does. He stretches the man out with carefully lubed fingers and gentle touches. Mycroft peppers the pale skin before him with kisses and bites, seeking to make this as sensual as Jim will allow him. The sounds that come out of the smaller male lights a fire in Mycroft's soul, burning him from the inside. The mak- they have sex on the bed. Hard and fast, Mycroft's hands leaving stark bruises on skin and Jim leaving deep scratches down his back. And they have slow and sweet sex filled with low moans and gentle kisses. In between bouts, they rest back to chest breathing in their combined scent. Jim takes over for a bit, opening Mycroft up with quick and sure movements, body sore but minds still seeking the rush.

 

It will be their downfall, Mycroft realizes as he's walking home, head held high and a slight limp to his gait. This thing between them, it will doom one of them and in the destruction of one, the other will buckle. Or one of them will become Icarus while the other becomes the sun. Burning and killing the other when they become too cocky. Anthea is waiting for him, tapping her foot and looking completely done with him. Her blackberry is clenched tightly in her hands.

 

"You have to come up with a code for whenever you do this," she tells him shortly walking him into his house, "or else you will have to fire me for handcuffing you to your bed."

 

Mycroft hums, he doesn't want to think about whether or not she means that. He just wants to rest. As he showers, he prays that his little brother will stay out of trouble so that his inquisitive mind won’t connect dots that Mycroft would much prefer to remain unconnected. He’s drying himself with a towel when he notices there is a smell in the air, old but recent enough to be worrying. On his bed is a small box wrapped with simple paper. It’s only the fact that he knows the scent that lets him open the box, which is barely the size of his ID. Mycroft stares at the picture of Jim smiling, laughing, a drink in one hand. It’s been cropped cutting out whoever else was in the picture and taken from a long distance. He flips it over and in neat, military letters there is a note.

 

‘ _ To keep you warm when the job makes you cold.  The nanny.’ _


End file.
